Blood and Parchment
by Luscious Kinney
Summary: Poor Coulmier, so lonely and restless after being put away. The perfect remedy comes to his aid in the form of a girl just like Madeline. Only one problem presents itself. Charlotte. Chapter Four Up! And What A Chapter It Is!!! ;0)
1. With flesh like death's light; white. Th...

It has gone over my mind a million times it seems, yet I still can't believe that the Marquis de Sade is dead. I speak with our former Abbé several times daily, each time he begs for ink, parchment and quill. I am dying inside to read what the Marquis has left instilled in his mind, yet I have neither the will, nor the unmitigated pluck to go against the good doctor's advice. I am intrigued by his sudden psychoses; the yearning to enter his chambers and ask him about what the Marquis has done to him almost overwhelms me.  
  
"Your linens, please."  
  
Each and every time he reaches through the port to hand me his bedding, he runs his fingertips over my palm, and it feels almost as though the Marquis is touching me and not Coulmier. He is so beautiful and seemingly delicate, however, the doctor claims him to be a great danger to himself and the other patients. He was once the Abbé, like I said before. I understand not how a priest could be driven to such lunacy by the repetitive dealings of one man who, under the state of affairs was very much sane per every credible definition.  
  
I believe that under the correct circumstances, he can be surprisingly placid. As the doctor said, he is a potential danger to himself and others, but the doctor has failed to mention why. While Coulmier still acted as Abbé, and the Marquis de Sade was still alive and spilling over with prose, an incident occurred in which a young chambermaid, Coulmier's love, was brutally murdered as a result of the Marquis' carnal urge to compose and publish.  
  
Madeline was beautiful, and the first one that had ever tasted Coulmier's kisses no less. Not long after their affectionate encounter, Madeline was found deceased by her own mother in the linen pool. Coulmier pulled her out and cried like a child in front of Madeline's poor mother. Her mother was blind, and could only tell tragedy from his agonized caterwauling.  
  
He is perpetually tormented by the last words she ever acknowledged him with. He had told her after their irate, fervent kiss that he loved her... as a child of God. She stormed away furiously, and in chasing after her he only found himself to be caught by another (tattling, loose-lipped) chambermaid, Charlotte. It was the next morning whilst Madeline was retrieving dry linens from the line that he confronted her with an explanation. He stumbled over his words and reached out to touch her reddening face only to be answered with a very spiteful, very forthright:  
  
"Don't dare touch me, Abbé. God's watching."  
  
With basket underarm, she breezed by, leaving him in the same position as the night before. His one mistake was to calm the urge to go after her again. Instead he clutched at one of the hanging sheets, peering bashfully out from behind it, the longing to kiss her again made his eyes sparkle with fresh regret.  
  
"Madeline." He whispered.  
  
That's one of the many things in the past that wreak hell on his conscience in the present.  
  
"Your name, my beauty." He insists. What can I do but oblige?  
  
"Noelle. And yours?" I shouldn't have even tried to spark conversation. I should have known that part of his complexity had to deal with involuntary rage of the narcissistic persuasion. I just had to flirt. I heard a great slam as though he cast a book down flatly on the floor, it made such a loud slap that I nearly leapt from my flesh.  
  
As he replied, he tried to keep his composure. His voice shattered, not in the sense that he was crying, but in the sense that he was becoming inflamed and provoked. "You need not know mine. You already know my name."  
  
I could hear a strange scratching, like fingernails on marble. I slid open the port and looked inside. Somehow, Coulmier had attained what he desired to slate his inner grievances. He began to hum a peculiar French funeral sonata.  
  
"Where did you get those, Coulmier?"  
  
"Madeline's kind mother gave them me. I am in eternal debt to her lovely daughter... And in order to repay I must occupy the role of the Marquis until my time here is through."  
  
"I would love to read your works."  
  
"Perhaps later, inspiration calls. Come to me tomorrow and conceivably you too may taste the bittersweet aspirations of the Marquis'."  
  
I began to quiver... because the asylum was so drafty and cold. I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders and tried to keep my teeth from chattering. I concentrated, listening hard to see whether he had begun writing again or not.  
  
The brevity in which I soon left the corridor was peculiar to Charlotte, who traced my every move, adamant that I was not to turn out like Madeline. She was rather late, in my humble opinion. Madeline, per recollection of poor Coulmier, was noble as she was honest and trust-worthy, passionate, kind, feeling and beautiful.  
  
I would rather be whipped as she was then to have my independence taken from me. Coulmier promised to tell me more of his Madeline at dusk. There but for the grace of the Marquis go I.  
  
"Noelle, you shouldn't ought to be going anywhere near his quarters. He's cursed, mind you."  
  
"I bid you tell the Abbé, Charlotte. Go ahead. You are nearly as open- mouthed as the very trollops the Marquis wrote about. For once, damn it, leave me to my work!"  
  
I felt terrible to speak to her so, however, she needed the truth. I couldn't decide whether to be appalled at or proud of myself when she turned her pretty little nose up at me and carried on down the halls.  
  
"Bravo." Coulmier quipped. I glanced quickly back to see him grinning my way through the north port in his door. I winked his way and continued my work, looking forward to meeting him again...  
  
"Coulmier- are you in here?" I asked, unlocking his iron screen and slide doors.  
  
"Over here, sweetling." Purred he. I could almost feel his lips at my throat, his fingers gliding over my thighs. I was obviously aroused by his voice. If one were able to put their fingertips on a voice, if it were truly tangible, I could imagine his being fine velvet.  
  
I looked into his eyes from my place in the room. Our tawdry gazes locked for what could possibly have been a fortnight at least... Could Coulmier have known what I was thinking? 


	2. Nosy Little Whench

... "Doctor! Dr. Royer-Collard? Oh, doctor this is most urgent!" Charlotte wept. Ha! As though she cared.  
  
"Yes Charlotte." He muttered, gazing dreamily up from Bouchòn's chart. His eyes smiled. For what I shall never know, and will henceforth never have the need to.  
  
"Nöelle. You told me to watch over Nöelle. I swear it, either Maddie's somewhere among us, or Coulmier's told her something. She acts just like Madeline, Doctor. The humanity!" And justly so! She swooned, acting as though she needed be faint over such a trivial situation.  
  
"No worries, mon petit minet. What makes you think so, dear?"  
  
"She bade me tattle on her when I caught her speaking to Coulmier through his north port. She even branded me a--..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"A whore." She whispered. And at that very same whisper a blush crept up her pallid face. A traitor, a bloody hypocrite such as she, daring to blush at such a vulgar little quip? It is to laugh; yet I am unable. I have learned many things about our little princess, one of which angers me to the point that I must run to my quarters or be sick, or serve Charlotte a flogging she'll never forget.  
  
In the months, nay e'en days before my beloved Marquis' death, she would have rather had raging animalistic sex with Dr. Royer-Collard then to read but a word of the Marquis' works.  
  
Now she does both. The irony, yes?  
  
"I suggest that you give Nöelle some space, hmm?"  
  
"But doctor!?" She protested. He stopped her in mid mutter by brushing a gentle finger across her lips. Considering the very type of woman she was, it came as a great surprise to me that she didn't bite it off.  
  
"Un peu?" He coaxed...  
  
...I stood silent by Madeline's tomb. It was the most beautiful architectural work I had set eyes upon since being recruited to work in this psychiatric prison. The moment the Marquis heard of Madeline's death he'd beseeched the Abbè de Coulmier to give her a proper burial, far from the cruel walls of Charenton. And so a large catacomb was constructed, and a pillar inside for her fair frame to rest upon. Large and ominous marble angels loomed over the entry as though to keep her safe.  
  
The Marquis' request was heeded, but not as well as it could have been, for she was outside the walls of Charenton, however a single upward glance would send my gaze though Pitou's window. There he sat (much like everyday) running a brush over his rather bald scalp. He believed himself to be a woman with lush thick, full hair. Nobody could ever tell him differently.  
  
"Tell me, Madeline. Did you love the Marquis as I do? I never met him or knew him as you did, but when his name is mentioned, or I speak with Coulmier, I feel his icy touch across the small of my back. He tells me he's there almost every minute."  
  
With one last glance I knew it was time to resume my post.  
  
"Goodbye, angel."...  
  
... "I knew you were at her tomb! I knew it. Is my advice falling on deaf ears?"  
  
"Leave me be, Charlotte!"  
  
"All I want to know is that you aren't turning into her! I never liked her, to tell the truth I was right happy when she died."  
  
At the sick resonance of those last few words my hands flew before my mind could even trigger any sort of proper behavior response. I backhanded her across the face and she fell to the floor.  
  
"HOW-- HOW DARE YOU?!?!?! IF THERE IS A GOD IN HEAVEN MAY HE STRIKE YOU DEAD THIS INSTANT!" She stared up at me, a frightened kitten ready to scramble beneath some dark, spider infested foundation. "And if he doesn't... I promise you that I will."  
  
"I'll be watching you! I'll know!!!"  
  
"You'll know nothing, poppet."... 


	3. Just Run.

So ashamed, and yet feeling some gratification coursing throughout my body, I ran. Through the cold, damp halls, up the dimly lit stairwells and to the top floor where resided Coulmier.  
  
"What did she say to make you hurt her so?" He lightly traced circles around the area beginning to swell, the pain it caused, sparking something different within me.  
  
"Nothing I want to discuss, I promise you." From between waves of somewhat disheveled hair he stared through me, causing me to tremble lightly in a most pleasurable manner. He let go of my hand and stood, his eyes suddenly glowing and wild.  
  
"What do I hear?" Something forceful, cadenced... Echoing through the corridors.  
  
"Most assuredly nothing, Coulmier." I felt as though I could have very well been melting. He walked toward the door, hearing the same footsteps as I, and clear as a bell. I ran to the door, pressing my body between his and it, fumbling to lock myself in.  
  
"What is this? What do you think you are doing?" For the first time, since I had felt his words wrapping themselves gently around my body, did they ever dare to constrict. He held himself stiffly upright, anxiety locking his joints.  
  
"Please, Coulmier." I plead in a whisper, keeping a steady gaze. "Please calm. trust me?" With entirely no admonition, he relaxed, and reached out to touch my face.  
  
"Nöelle? I know you're up there. Donatien saw you and told me you were up here! He's aching to use the flog on you, y'know."  
  
I could see his façade weakening, he was becoming as a trapped animal would. He was skittish, and just as I was sure he was going to tell her where she could place the whip I pulled forward and kissed him. His eyes flickered madly as he tried to orient himself. I cursed myself inside for doing such a thing. I had no knowledge of what his rejoinder would be.  
  
"Forgive me." I whispered, knowing full well there was chance of Charlotte hearing Coulmier's heart pounding against his chest wall. I placed my hand just there, hoping it could be stifled if only for a moment. His body became rigid again, and once again he became panicked.  
  
"Forgiven, angel, but not saved." He bowed his head and let a tear slip down his cheek.  
  
"What worries you? Donatien can slash me as he pleases, but he can never break me!" Coulmier's eyes widened, tears still escaping his eyes. He reached forward and cupped my cheek in his hand, looking hurt.  
  
"He will hurt you. He will hurt you like they let me hurt him. Like. like." He finally became enraged and tore the key from the lock. He kicked open the door and handed me the key gently, as though he had to strain not to hurt me.  
  
"What is wrong?"  
  
"Just. Run." 


	4. Who Put The Sade In Sadism?

"Why should I?!" I finally burst and sobbed. I stayed firmly in place, wanting him to erupt as I had. I felt the pressing, almost agonizing need to drive him to his limits. Hello, Marquis. I could almost feel him standing next to me, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.  
  
"If you don't go-." He began to blanch. My own façade shattered like so many shards of glass as Donatien reached through the open door and locked his fingers into a fist around my hair. I squealed in shock as he dragged me away and watched Coulmier scramble to the other side of the room and nestle himself in a corner.  
  
*If the blood of anyone must be shed, then let it be mine!*  
  
He had once said it in Madeline's defense. I hung there at the whipping post, like linen on the line to dry. Every snap of the whip, every shiver that coursed through me, every excruciating split in my skin and droplet of blood running down my back had its very own meaning. The wind began to blow, a cold wind that only made the pain succulently brutal.  
  
Donatien wore a smile that testified to the entire court that he was "getting off" (so to speak) on injuring me so. I suppose everyone has a little bit of the Marquis inside. My face was turned away from the crowd, all for the better, I'd say.  
  
Not a soul would have understood the smile creeping onto my face, anyway. yet in his window stood Coulmier, watching me with that same sick little smirk.  
  
It stung no more, in fact something below my waist began to tell me I liked it, and in order to earn more I turned and spat in Donatien's face. He growled a low, vicious growl and drew back his hand, letting it fall forward, cracking the leather whip against the already bloody flesh at my back.  
  
Then I did it. I felt almost every muscle in my body pulsate; a naughty blush crept into my already scarlet cheeks. I licked my lips and smiled; looking up toward Coulmier's window... he had gone.  
  
"Poor little thing. Afraid that I'll not need him anymore. I'll surely find use for him."  
  
Coulmier sat in his empty chambers, sat and thought of me as every crack of the whip resounded throughout the commons.  
  
"Have you had enough?" Dr. Royer-Collard asked angrily. He tore the whip from Donatien's hands and threw it to the ground. "Go and unbind her... NOW!"  
  
I began to pout, understanding that the doctor was ruining my fun. No matter, considering he only had my best interest in mind. I realized then that I had been drained, not only was I unaware of the severity of the blood loss, but I had no idea of what sort of anguish I would be in come morning...  
  
"Tell me, Nöelle, what is it you were being beaten for?" The Doctor had found it convenient to invoke conversation as he mended my wounds. I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him that it was all Charlotte's doing, but I had to take credit where credit was due.  
  
"I disregarded your advice and went to visit Coulmier." I maintained a confident sort of tone as I explained.  
  
"Hardly cause for such a beating. Is that all that provoked this?"  
  
"I went to Madeline's tomb. All I wanted was to speak to her, I understand that, being a man of science, that you wouldn't believe she could hear, but I had to speak to Madeline, and Charlotte saw me there at the tomb."  
  
"Go on." He said, seemingly interested.  
  
"She pulled me to the side as I was working and began to desecrate Madeline's good name. Dr. Royer-Collard, she was kind, generous, brave, trustworthy, hardly the kind to be a chambermaid as I am. She loved the Marquis because he taught her something new and exciting." "I banned what he was doing because it was ultimately the cause of her death, had she been obedient, she might have lived."  
  
"That woman had absolutely no respect for the deceased, and I became very irate. As a matter of fact, I hit her."  
  
"What did she say to make you hurt her so?"  
  
Those words. That kiss. I jumped from the table and covered up with my shawl.  
  
"Dr. Royer-Collard, Coulmier deserves the chance to be heard. When, upon your orders, he had the Marquis' tongue cut out, he had already begun losing his grip. It is as though the Marquis has possessed him. If he isn't heard soon, and the Marquis has his way, history just may repeat itself." 


End file.
